


I Only Ever Told You One Lie

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Could be seen as platonic or romantic it's up to the reader, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:40:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been thirteen years, since Dick Grayson died. Damian never thought it’d have anything to do with the one who’s been following him for a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Only Ever Told You One Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday yuekato!! Haha, I wish I could have done a better job for you. <3 As basically everything I write, loosely inspired by ‘Tompkins Square Park’ by Mumford&Sons. I say loosely because, for once, the story isn’t as tragic as the song is.
> 
> I swear, I have stories not inspired by Mumford&Sons songs. They'll be posted eventually.

It had started almost a year ago. Two weeks after his twenty-second birthday. Always in his periphery. Always just out of reach.

A shadow he couldn’t quite catch. A presence he couldn’t quite feel. A ghost he couldn’t quite see. 

At first, he thought it was a threat. Someone coming after him, perhaps sent by his mother? Perhaps an enemy of the Justice League’s? Wonder Woman had mentioned it – their enemies tended to target their newest members. 

But Nightwing was hardly new. 

It didn’t take long for him to find himself paranoid. Always looking over his shoulder, always tensing at the slightest sound.

His family became concerned, and that’s when he realized – they never knew. They never saw the ghost. They never sensed that shadow.

They thought he was _crazy_. Began to treat him with the utmost delicacy. His father began hugging him more, taking days off from the office to spend with him. Todd texted him more often than not. His sister made multiple surprise visits a month, to take him for ice cream.

And then Drake reminded him that he could talk to _him_ , if there was ever something wrong. 

He tried to distance himself then, but even he knew it was impossible. Once a Bat, always a Bat. And their family was too big to hide from.

(Not too big for his stalker to hide from, though.) 

Eventually, after no attack ever came, he relaxed. Became used to his follower. Kept it a quiet curiosity. Who was it? What did they want? Why him? 

And then. They saved his life. 

It’d been a bad night already. Robberies, muggings, the like. He’d already been running on empty, had gotten stabbed a couple times in inattention. The blue streak across his chest had long since been stained a dirty red. To top the night off, he found himself in a bomb situation, in some stupid attack by Scarecrow, so of course, a face full of fear gas. 

He had built up a tolerance to it, so it was never going to be a huge problem. But it still hit him hard enough to cause dizziness. Still annoying enough for his eyes to cross. 

He heard the thug coming. Even saw his fuzzy form lumbering towards him. Knew he wouldn’t be fast enough to defend himself. 

Turned out he wouldn’t have to. 

The shape dropped in front of him in the blink of an eye. He thought he saw colors. Grays, browns, a flash of light blue. The shape – person, it had to be – moved as if weightless. As if gravity didn’t apply to them and never did. Within seconds, the thug was taken down, and suddenly, Damian was being dragged away. 

To safety, he hoped. 

He never knew because he lost consciousness seven seconds later. 

When he woke, he found himself in Colin’s apartment. In Colin’s bed, with his friend staring darkly out the window from an old mustard-colored recliner.

“Wha…” He blinked, fighting between the urges to sit up and curl tighter into the sheets. “How did I get here?” 

Colin turned his cool brown eyes to him. “I don’t know, Damian.” Suddenly a card was zipping through the air, landing expertly on the pillow next to his face. “You tell me.” 

The writing was chicken scratch, but easy enough to decipher.

_“You’ve lost your spunk, kid. Meet me in the doc’s park two nights from now to try and get it back. No masks. Come alone.”_

“I found it taped to your forehead.” Colin explained with a sigh. There was a tone of bitterness in his voice. Or maybe worry. Damian couldn’t tell anymore. “Whoever brought you here thinks they’re funny.”

“Maybe they are.”

“Oh, shut up.” Colin spat quietly, as Damian sighed and dragged his hand over the card, rolling to his back and holding it up above his face. “…So?”

“So what?” 

“Are you going to go?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to give every single reason as to why this is a _bad_ idea.” Colin hissed. There was a pause, as the ginger turned his gaze back to the window. “…I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.” 

“If you think-” 

Damian inhaled slowly. It was quite the switch, him being calm and Colin Wilkes jumping to anger. “We’ve talked about this.”

 “I don’t give a _fuck_ what we’ve talked about-” 

“You will be safer here.” Damian called over him, closing his eyes. And it was a low blow, but Damian wasn’t in the mood for a drawn out fight. “And you must be stupider than you look if you think I’m going to put you in unnecessary danger on my account.”

He could practically hear the clack of Colin’s teeth as he slammed his own mouth shut. 

“Besides, we agreed, didn’t we?” Damian’s voice was softer now, because Colin deserved that much. As the only one in all of Gotham who believed him, Colin Wilkes deserved that much. “If this…person was going to harm me, they would have done it long ago.” 

Colin sighed again, resigned. “You think it’s them?” 

“It has to be. I was alone in that quarter of the city.” Damian explained, keeping his eyes closed, trying to focus on that shape. Trying to put details to it that he knew didn’t exist. “No one else could have gotten there so quickly.” 

“…I guess.” Colin didn’t sound completely convinced. “…They know where I live.” 

“It appears so.” 

“…Are you okay with that?” 

“Not particularly.” 

“Me either.”

“It’ll be the second thing I ask them.” Damian promised solemnly. “Right behind asking who the hell they are, and why they keep following me.” 

Colin let out a snort of laughter, one he was obviously trying to hide. Damian smirked, opening his eyes again and turning back towards his best friend. 

“I hate you.” Colin chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I know.” Damian muttered seriously. “Thank you for taking care of me. Again.” 

“Yeah, well.” Colin pursed his lips as he stood and walked to the bed. As he picked up the roll of gauze sitting on the nightstand. “It’s not like you’ll let anyone else do it.”

“Don’t remind me.” Damian sighed bitterly, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes.

“What can I say? Bruce Wayne is desperate.” Colin full-out laughed as he lifted Damian’s other arm, began stripping off the soiled bandage. “Weird look for him, I’ve gotta admit. Now hold still.”

Damian cringed as the dried blood peeled away, and repeated Colin’s earlier sentiment. “I hate you.” 

~~ 

The park was quiet. Too quite, almost like the opening scenes of those old horror movies. But there were no whispering couples, no eerie cats darting across the path. Just Damian. Damian in his long, black trench coat.

He walked slowly, glancing around the area, looking for any signs of life, any signs of someone hiding in wait. But there was nothing. Not even a leaf was out of place. 

He followed the path, around the lake and through the playground, towards the statue in the park’s center – made after the doctor for which the area was named. 

Doctor Leslie Thompkins. She’d barely been dead a year before this place was commissioned. It was the least he and his family could do, after all she’d done for them. 

And that was what made the message even more concerning. Because that’s what his family called it. ‘The doc’s park.’ 

But surely no one in his family would send him a mysterious message to meet up. He isn’t avoiding them _that_ intently. 

He reached the statue of the Leslie – her standing in her lab coat, one hand outstretched and the other wrapped around the shoulders of a child – and nodded to it, as he always did when he stopped through. 

“Hello, Doctor Thompkins.” 

He stood by the bench in front of her, looking around one more time. Surely, the note would not have specified it as _her_ park if the writer had meant for him to stop elsewhere? 

He frowned. His shadow better not make him wait too long. 

And they didn’t. It wasn’t but maybe ten minutes later that Damian saw something in the corner of his eye, heard the shake of one of the overhead trees, followed by the metallic thump of someone landing on the statue. He didn’t give his stalker the satisfaction of looking upwards. 

“You came.” 

The voice was a mixture of surprised and amused – and so obviously male. Damian narrowed his eyes. 

“I tend to go where I am summoned.” Damian responded coolly. “Besides. I’ve been…curious. You’ve been following me for a while.”

“Longer than a while.” The man snorted. The comment made Damian look up – just in time to see the silhouette jump down on the statue’s opposite side. “ _Years_ , really.”

“Insistent.” 

The other laughed, and Damian felt a tinge of pain in the depth of his soul. Wait…what?

“You’ve called me worse.” 

“Have I?” Damian tried to remain nonchalant. But the twang in his chest had cracked something, and emotions long since buried were starting to seep through. “Mind giving me the dates and reasons? I tend to reserve terrible insults for special occasions.” 

“You and I both know that’s not true.” The man countered smoothly. Damian wanted nothing more than to dart around the statue’s base, try and catch the ghost off-guard. But he had a feeling the man was prepared for that. “You hurled insults at me every chance you got, once upon a time.” 

“If you’re not going to give me anything other than vague remembrances and banter, then this was a waste of time.” Damian snapped all of the sudden. “This was our first contact since you started…since I _noticed_ you were following me. I thought you’d want it to be meaningful.” 

He spun, fully planning on walking away. Disappearing back to Colin’s tiny side street apartment and licking at his sudden sentimental wounds for a few days. 

He’d only taken two steps when, “Sorry, sorry. I get a little wrapped up in the theatrics sometimes, you know that.”

“Do I?” Damian asked, barely glancing over his shoulder. “Really?”

“Really.” The other said, sincerity dripping off the one word. “Turn around if you don’t believe me.” 

Damian only hesitated for a second, then did just that.

The other was more casual. Light jacket over a blue t-shirt and jeans. Dirty sneakers. But Damian wasn’t looking at any of that. He was looking at the blue eyes, the bright smile, the stress lines etched across the handsome face. 

And the cage around his heart exploded. Every emotion he wished he never experienced burst forth. Love. Hate. Hurt. Loss. Disappointment. Grief. 

But the worst part was, he knew it was all for naught. Because his eyes were lying to him. 

“Clayface.” He decided on with a hiss. 

“What?” Dick Grayson’s smile disappeared. “Really, wha… _Really?_ That’s the first thing you say to me?” 

“That’s a low blow, even for trash like you.” Damian continued. Because it was better to believe the lie his mind was forming, than accept the impossible. Than accept it and be torn apart all over again. “I should have you arrested for fraud. Libel. Identity theft.” 

“Damian.” Dick’s voice softened as he stepped forward. His shoulders dropped as Damian stepped back. “Please.” 

“No.” Damian spat. “Because…because this is _impossible_. Because you are not Jason Todd. You…you are not _me_. You are not even Stephanie Brown.” And he could feel his voice speeding up, tone rising in panic. Try as he might to convince his mind of the lie, but his body had other plans. “You are the one who didn’t come _back_. And I…it took forever, but I finally got over it. I finally accepted that Richard Grayson is dead and gone and-” 

“Damian-” 

“-and that I will _never_ see him again!” Damian finished with a shout, one that echoed through the grassy area. “So, congratulations, Clayface. You got me. You got me good, but see, the joke here is still on you. Because if you actually wanted something, you’d have better luck going to my brother or my father. They’re in charge of the assets of Wayne Enterprises, not me.” 

Through his tirade, he could only watch as Dick slowly approached. He halfheartedly continued to try and retreat, but it was a losing battle, especially when all his body wanted was to jump into that idiot’s arms and never let go. 

Dick’s smile had returned, softer than Damian could ever remember seeing. But it’d been thirteen years since he’d actually _seen_ it, so maybe his memory was going. Or maybe he’d repressed it. He couldn’t bring himself to think to much about it as Dick crowded him, still  somehow taller than him after all these years.

“Here. Let me…” Dick was suddenly digging in his coat pocket, pulling out a small pocketknife. He pulled up his sleeve, and held held his arm between them, creating a gentle cut across the back of his forearm. Damian realized at that moment that his eyes were wide, threatening to tear up. He turned the shocked gaze downwards, watching as drops of blood bubbled up and oozed swiftly over the limb’s contours. Without meeting the gaze, he knew Dick was still watching him, still smiling with that stupid face. “Could Clayface do that?” 

“Still a trick.” Damian forced out, shaking his head. “Still a…”

 “Damian.” The arm was abruptly moving, and then, there were two hands on his face. His eyes jerked up. Dick was closer than before, watching him closely. “It’s me.” 

“It can’t be.” Damian whispered. “You…you were dead.” 

“For a hot second.” Dick agreed. “Much shorter than _you_ were, might I add. And do you have _any idea_ how hard it was for me to agree to stay away when you came back?” 

“Ir…” Damian felt like he was falling into a trance. “Irrelevant…” 

They fell into a silence then. Eyes still locked. Dick’s hands still on Damian’s face as Damian felt his knees threatening to give way. 

“I’ve been undercover. Bad excuse, I know, but we can hash that out later.” Dick admitted. “What matters right now is I came back for a reason. And that reason is you.” 

“…Me?” Damian asked dumbly. 

“I missed you. Way more than probably humanly possible. And I’m worried about you. Bruce told me you didn’t handle your… _grief_ well.” Dick explained. “And when I came back to the city…I watched firsthand, you distancing yourself from the family.” He paused, pursed his lips as his gaze twitched away, taking in Damian’s face. “Not good, Damian. You’re not _good_.” 

“No.” Damian agreed dreamily, finally moving, finally lifting his hands, hooking them around Dick’s elbows. The weight was real. The shift of muscles under his fingertips was real. The blood slipping in the grip of one hand was _real_. “No, I’m a giant emotional wreck.”

The accusation of ‘ _and it’s all your fault’_ remained unsaid, as was its reply of ‘ _I know_.’ 

“I saw.” Dick moved forward, sliding his hands from Damian’s face down across his back, pulling him into an embrace. “…I’m sorry.”

When Grayson’s scent hit him, all bets were off. Apples and spring grass, with a hint of sweat. No one could fake that, no one could _recreate_ that, and deities knew Damian _tried_. It was like a flashback, and the whiplash was too much to take. His knees collapsed completely, and he clung to Dick’s back to steady himself. To steady the whole world. 

Because this was _him_. This was the man he worshipped. The man he aspired to be. The man he would die for. The man he would _kill_ for. 

The man he loved. 

Because there was no denying it. His siblings had asked. Colin had asked. Dinah Lance had asked. But it wasn’t a question of _how_. It wasn’t a question of if he was _in_ love with him or just loved him in general. It wasn’t a question of if he was his best friend or that he _wanted_ him. It wasn’t a question of platonic or romantic. 

He loved Dick Grayson. 

And he would never love _anyone_ more. 

(That’s why the last thirteen years had been complete and utter _hell_.) 

“You’re real.” Damian gasped. He heard Dick grunt as he clawed at his back, as he missed the collar and dug his nails into the flesh of the older man’s neck. “You’re real. You’re really real. You’re really here.” 

“Mhm.” And just like he always had, Dick adjusted to fit Damian’s movements, to fit Damian’s needs. “I’m really here.” 

Quiet took over once more. More because neither knew what to say than anything else. But what could be said? Words were never often needed between them anyway. So Damian did the only thing he could. He clung. He did what he’d always dreamed of, always fantasized about. Finding Grayson and holding him for hours. For _ever_ , if he could. Never letting go again. Because the universe was terrible, and enjoyed the joke of taking your loved ones away the second you weren’t looking. 

Dick, for once it seemed, knew to keep quiet. To not fill the air with excuses and jokes and words. And even if he had, Damian wouldn’t have registered any of it. All that he could hear, right now, was the heartbeat against his ear. He heard it beat its steady rhythm, he heard it stutter as Dick held his lips against Damian’s temple.

“I missed you, Damian.” Dick whispered against his skin. Damian shuddered against the sudden intimacy of the moment. “I missed you so much.” 

Damian could only nod, practically nuzzling against the side of Dick’s throat. But then: “What did you mean?” 

“Hm?” murmured. “…When?”

 “In your note.” It was a silly question, and Damian would never know why he thought of it right at that moment. “You said I’d lost my spunk. That you were going to give it back.” 

“Oh yeah. I did, didn’t I?” 

“I told you years ago, I don’t have any spunk. I have _talent_. But humor me.” Damian was speaking on autopilot, and he wished he could stop. He didn’t want to ruin this. Not this moment, not this reunion, out of fear it would all disappear if he did. “What’s my _spunk_?” 

Dick hummed, low and amused, as he brushed his nose down the side of Damian’s face. “Would it be corny if I said it was me?” 

“Incredibly.”

“Good.” Suddenly, Damian felt the press of a soft, sweet, adoring kiss to his cheek. “Then it was me.” 

And Damian couldn’t help but smile. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Ahhh, there’s my terrible insult.” Dick exhaled. The warm breath washed over Damian’s flesh, and into his soul. “…I’m sorry I took so long to come back, Damian.”

Damian just pressed closer. He didn’t want to say it was okay, because it wasn’t. It was the worst thing in the world, really. How could Grayson have done that to him? To any of them? But like he’d said, that battle could come later. Would come later. Because for now, nothing else mattered. Nothing but… 

“Grayson?” His tone was quiet and childish, but he didn’t care. He gripped the back of Dick’s jacket tighter. 

“Yeah?” 

“Please.” Damian looked up, eyes desperate as they flitted between Dick’s. “Please don’t leave again.” 

Dick smiled. And in those old eyes, Damian saw the same. The memories of the same years of hell. The same feeling of absolute love. 

“Please don’t leave me again, Grayson.” 

Dick leaned down, bumped their foreheads together. Glanced down to Damian’s lips before closing his eyes. “Never.”


End file.
